


Flying Model Rockets

by Sadsmolbibean



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F, Ravenclaw!lexa, angsty af im sorry, eventually, slytherin!Clarke, these sads will find their way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6569797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadsmolbibean/pseuds/Sadsmolbibean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts has put itself back together after the war. The same cannot be said for its students, however.</p>
<p>Or</p>
<p>Clarke discovers just how much and how little has changed at Hogwarts. Lexa included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Model Rockets

“You’re going to be late, Clarke.”

“I know.”

“The train leaves in 3 minutes.”

“I know.”

Clarke takes a shaky breath in. “It’s just…” she trails off.

“I know.”

Clarke turns to see her mother smiling slightly at her. She rolls her eyes at her turning the conversation back on her. She grips her suitcase tight and asks, “Do you think it’s changed much?”

Abby’s eyes soften at her daughter’s worried expression. “Hogwarts is always changing, Clarke.”

Clarke’s face relaxes into a half-grin, but her eyes betray her almost perfectly concealed fear. She gives Abby a quick hug and saunters towards the wall that will take her to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters with a blasé wave over her shoulder.

Abby wishes her daughter hadn’t needed to get so good at hiding.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke makes it onto the train with 30 seconds to spare. She hopes nobody witnessed her freeze as she tried to actually step onto the Hogwarts Express.

She thinks she’s made it on without notice and is about to try and find a likely non-existent empty carriage so she can prepare herself for the year ahead. She is, of course, wrong.

“I have a bum leg and I still managed to beat you on here by a good minute, Blondie,” someone mocks.

Clarke turns, comeback prepared but the words catch in her throat at the voice’s owner. There are no reflective surfaces near her but she knows that the wide-eyed, slack-jawed look on the face of the girl opposite her is without doubt mirrored on hers.

After the impromptu staring match lasts a few more seconds than is comfortable, she finds her words again. “Raven?” she says.

Raven regains herself and gives Clarke a once-over. She lets out a low whistle. “Wow, Clarke…you got hot.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and takes a surreptitious survey of her old friend in turn. She pretends not to notice the slight stiffening of Raven’s posture when her eyes flicker over her leg brace.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she says with a wink.

Raven smirks. “I see your body’s not the only thing that’s changed. Nice accent, _y’all_ ,” she sniggers.

Clarke huffs out a laugh, “that’s not how you use that word and you know it.” Despite everything that’s different, Clarke still can’t stand Raven having the last word so she exaggerates a Southern drawl, tips an invisible Stetson, and adds, “Partner.”

Raven’s eyes light up in amusement, the last flickers of discomfort at Clarke’s presence leaving her posture. “Good to know you’re still an ass, Griffin.”

“You love it, Reyes.”

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? Always were full of yourself, probably wanted to make Prom Queen or Homecoming Queen or whatever the bloody hell it is you win back in _‘Murica_.”

Clarke’s grinning now, and before she can get her retort out her lips, Raven says, “come on, I can’t wait to see the look on Octavia’s face when she sees you.” Raven smiles at Clarke but there’s something sadistic in her glinting eyes. “She’s probably gonna punch you. Or hex you. She’s _really_ good at that now; it’s actually kind of terrifying. And she works out. So basically, you’re screwed either way.”

The thought of seeing all her old friends’ faces has Clarke’s stomach flipping, from nerves or excitement, she can’t tell. _Probably both,_ she thinks. She allows herself to be dragged through the train by Raven, the English countryside passing by in a blur, and regret grips Clarke’s heart for not paying more attention before to the sight. Before the war. Before everything and everyone went to shit.

Almost too soon for Clarke’s liking, Raven is announcing to a compartment, “Look who I found, guys!” She turns to Clarke with a grin entirely too smug, before unceremoniously shoving her into an anticipating crowd.

Shock is something Clarke thinks she’ll have to expect to see over the next few weeks, judging by the obvious surprise on every single person’s face. She smiles weakly and gives a sheepish wave. “Hey, guys, it’s been a while,” she somewhat pathetically mumbles and she curses herself for being so transparent in her hesitation.

“Holy shit, Clarke Griffin,” comes from a boy with scruffy black hair – _Bellamy,_ she instantly identifies – and similar utterances of pleasant surprise follow. The gleam of a badge on his robes catches her eye (because of course Bellamy has already changed out of his muggle clothing) and she raises an impressed brow at the new Head Boy. He sees her expression and waggles his eyebrows at her. She tries to mask her amusement but the pleased grin on Bellamy’s face tells her she’s failed.

She scans the faces seated around the table and memories of the group she was a part of at Hogwarts come flooding back. The boat ride across the Black Lake with a bewildered Lincoln, watching Bellamy gleam with pride as his little sister confidently approached the Sorting Hat, Monty saving her from failing Potions in Second Year…she shakes herself from her reverie –it wouldn’t do to make herself look any more uncomfortable with being back on the Hogwarts Express for the first time in two years – and takes the spare seat next to Octavia.

The younger Blake sibling punches her shoulder (as Raven predicted) then wraps her in a bone-crushing hug. Clarke is starting to run out of oxygen when Octavia finally lets go. “Raven really wasn’t kidding when she said you’d been working out,” she gasps.

This makes Octavia smile – Clarke makes a mental note of the effect the complement seems to have on her – and she flexes her biceps. “Oh, I bet Raven’s noticed,” she says with a wink in the girl’s direction.

Raven rolls her eyes as though used to this kind of banter, and Clarke is sure no one but herself notices the almost imperceptible blush that fights its way up Raven’s chest. _Interesting,_ she notes again, but leaves the thought to ponder over later when she is alone in the Slytherin dormitory.

It occurs to Clarke that a certain face is missing. “Where’s Lexa?” she asks, despite dreading what the answer might be.

The jovial atmosphere dies down almost immediately. Raven coughs. Monty is avoiding her eyes. Bellamy eventually speaks up, a melancholy lacing his words and leaving a bitter taste to the words: “she’s…a lot has changed, Clarke. Some of us…drifted during the war.” _After you left,_ is left unsaid but Clarke’s brain has no problem filling in the resentful blanks for her.

“Oh,” she eventually gets out, “that’s a shame.”

“Besides, she’s the Head Girl now. She’s probably too busy shouting at third years to acknowledge our presence anyway,” Raven says, and Clarke can see her desperately trying to change the subject and inject some levity back into the compartment.

She lets it drop.

“Speaking of which, why are you in here, Bellamy? That’s not a very good start to your reign, Mr Head boy?” she teases.

He folds his arms and buries his hands in his sleeves. “A Ravenclaw’s biggest strength is their wisdom, Clarke. I’m simply being patient and waiting for the ideal moment to make my grand entrance for maximum swooning.”

Clarke laughs and after that the easy conversation that had filled the air is back in full swing. Nobody brings Lexa up again, nobody mentions the fact that Clarke is back after so long away again.

Clarke, for one, is not going to challenge this unspoken rule, and is glad to see her friends are just as understanding as they were two years ago.

It’s nice to know that whilst some things have changed, some have withstood the erosion of time.

She hopes time gets to work on the knot in her stomach soon.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke makes it to the Great Hall without incident and slides back into her old seat next to Murphy at the Slytherin table.

“Clarke,” he acknowledges.

“Murphy,” she nods back.

He doesn’t mention Clarke’s absence and she’s glad to see no one from her year group sat in the vicinity. _Murphy has that effect on people_ , she thinks.

She might just make it through the feast. The thought has her hands’ shaking under the table still and she finally deems it safe to reach for the roast beef.

If Murphy had noticed the nervous sweat that still lined her palms, he, again, doesn’t say anything. Clarke has always thought his ability to staying at a distance is one of his best traits.

The Hall is quiet for the Headmaster’s, Professor Kane, speech and Clarke plays spot the difference with the grand room.

She flinches at the fissures in the walls that hadn’t been there in her fifth year, and dread and sorrow squeeze her heart as she takes in the noticeably emptier benches surrounding the four tables.

She tells herself that the reason she’s avoiding looking at the Ravenclaw table is because she doesn’t want to risk making eye contact with Raven and laughing at the inevitably almost comical expression of boredom that will be slapped on the girl’s face.

It is definitely not to avoid accusing green eyes that could potentially be declaring her guilty with one hateful look.

Everyone is clapping and Clarke lets herself put her mask back on.

She looks to Murphy. “Still an anti-social asshole, huh?” she quips.

He smirks and twirls his knife lazily in his hand. He doesn’t dignify her with a response.

After everything that’s happened, at least her friendship with Murphy wasn’t destroyed.

_Unlike everything else you touch,_ her mind says.

Clarke doesn’t feel like eating anymore.

 

* * *

 

She’s absolutely exhausted by the overload of emotions and memories her first night back at Hogwarts has triggered, so she slips out of the Great Hall before she’s technically supposed to. Murphy barely seems to acknowledge her departure, but she knows he’d likely already predicted its happening and will almost certain as to its cause.

Clarke is grateful he’s smart enough not to comment.

She makes it all the way to the entrance to the entrance to the Slytherin common room before she realises she didn’t know the password.

She’s swearing to herself and wondering why her mind had decided to repress that particular memory after allowing so much to otherwise bubble to the surface of her thoughts when she hears a voice call out from behind her.

“I think you’ve either forgotten how the castle works or you’re the school’s tallest first year – and I thought Slytherins were supposed to be smart,” it tuts.

Clarke freezes. She knows that voice. It’s the voice she’s been trying to erase from her memory for two years now because if she didn’t she couldn’t sleep at night.

The person in question clears their throat. “When people talk to you, you generally are supposed to respond, you know.”

Clarke turns so slowly, eyes closed, as though her biggest fear of being cornered hasn’t just happened and will go away if she just shuts it out.

She finally faces the source of the voice and the shock that flares in those green eyes has her retort coming out a lot less confident than she wants it to. “I thought mockery wasn’t the product of a strong mind?”

Reality seems to be making itself known in the mind of the girl standing across from her, judging by the way her jaw shuts and clenches.

“Clarke,” Lexa says.


End file.
